


hypoesthesia

by arsenouselation



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenouselation/pseuds/arsenouselation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In varying degrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. perturb

**Author's Note:**

> Just something to get rid of. Multi-chaptered drabbles.

 

hypoesthesia

_« _by arsenous elation_ »_

_—_ _  
_

_in varying degrees_

(1)

The new guard perturbs the daughter of Light Nostrade.

Quiet and cold, methodical and logical to the sharpest point. Neon Nostrade has seen men and women like that before, stern right down to the sternum, faces in perpetual seriousness, professionalism the personal hubris. Oh, but not this one.

It's his calm, she gathers.

It's not the prerequisite kind of calm among bodyguards, the one that holds them ready for anything and everything that comes their way. It's not. No.

This kind of calm, this is the kind that _waits for_ some _thing_.

Looking. Simmering, gathering, festering, building for—for—

Neon does not (want to) know.


	2. dysfunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wears a look that the bodyguard recognizes, is familiar with.

hypoesthesia

_« by arsenous elation »_

_—_

_in varying degrees_

(2)

Her tantrums come down upon them like a typhoon.

No one is exempt, even the guards who are a room away. Kurapika feels Neon's screams reverberate in his chest as he waits it out with the others. Demanding, grating. In contrast, Light Nostrade's voice is tremulous, weak, trying to appease his tumultous daughter. A butterfly wing's whisper against the hurricane.

Kurapika finds that there are a few wrongs in this two-person family. A daughter who is left on her own too much and a father who does not know how to be a father. A family that does not how to be one.

The doors open and Light Nostrade strides out, his face showing cracks from age and frustration. Once more, this mafia lord flees from his daughter.

Kurapika contains the small sprout of annoyance within him, grinding it to dust, shelving it in the cracks where his ire cannot reach (nothing else should be allowed to grow). A dysfunctional family is better than none. He stands outside the room now, catches a glimpse of Neon before the doors are closed.

She wears a look that the bodyguard recognizes, is familiar with. It is a look that he himself has worn long ago.

Neon Nostrade is still a child.  
(but what of him?)


	3. verge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End.

hypoesthesia

_« by arsenous elation »_

—

_in varying degrees_

(3)

 

After.

In the cavernous hallways of the Nostrade mansion, the ghosts are quiet. Watching.

The princess walks with her head held high, as if she still has everything. As if she hasn't been stripped of the only thing that's worth a damn. But the bodyguard sees, with the sight afforded to those who have tasted the essence of humanity (choking and truly ugly). Her every step now has a shadow, curling around the edges of her feet. Something has taken the place of innocence.

They both stop, the sound of footfalls dying in slow echoes.

For a moment her voice belies her usual self, drops the façade of youth. When she speaks, her voice is light but carrying something ancient and scarred. Her shoulders sag.

"You think you are alone."

 _And what do you know of being alone?_ Kurapika wants to ask, but that isn't right. Because despite the riches, the people surrounding her, what is Neon Nostrade but alone?

He settles with: "You don't know me, miss."

This time, Neon turns to look at him. No pretenses, and he can see the openness of her face. "Ah of course. To each his own."

Kurapika opens his mouth, because it is odd, like he is seeing a memory. Like he is back in time, surrounded by blood and fire. He recognizes this for what it is.

A knifepoint between two people who have lost, had things taken from them, and now, will take things from others. Two people, one on the verge of the abyss, the other halfway through. The knowledge is fragile and indomitable, heavy and light all at once—

He nods, "To each his own."


End file.
